


Where Is Your Boy Tonight (I Hope He Is A Gentleman)

by ashavahishta



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV Outsider, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When they hang out together at other times, Nick is usually more careful. It’s not that he’s expecting Harry to cut off their friendship or something ridiculous when he finds out. It’s that he knows Harry would be lovely about it. Harry would look at him with huge sympathetic eyes and apologise that he didn’t feel the same way, and then he’d give him a huge hug and go home to Louis with Nick’s broken heart cradled in the palm of his hand.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Is Your Boy Tonight (I Hope He Is A Gentleman)

 

  
It’s 4am and Harry Styles is _drunk_.

In fact, he’s more than drunk; he’s unconscious, slumped over on the couch with his party tiara askew on his curls.

“Aw, he’s like a puppy who tired himself out with too much fun,” Aimee coos, looking fondly at the pile of boy beside Nick.

Nick laughs. He’s pretty drunk himself but slowly starting to come out of it, having switched rather sensibly to water about an hour ago. Besides, he’s not a nineteen year old lightweight, thank you very much.

He grabs Harry by the arms and turns him over onto his back so he doesn’t suffocate in the cushions. Harry frowns in sleep and then blows out a long breath and settles. He looks wrecked and beautiful; pink-lipped, soft, curls a mess, his shirt twisted around his body.

Nick kind of wants to wrap himself up in the younger boy and go to sleep, a warm pile of drunk and happy.

That’s not…not something he’s allowed to do, really. Nick purses his lips, stops himself from brushing an errant curl off Harry’s forehead and looks away.

Aimee is staring at him, her eyes soft and sympathetic.

“What?” Nick says defensively. He wants to distract her somehow (maybe he should start drinking again), but she knows him too well.

“You ever going to tell him?”

“Tell him what?” Nick moves away from Harry pointedly. Aimee just gives him another knowing, sad look, and Nick sighs.

“There’s no point, is there?” He looks at his hands and finds that they’ve clenched into painful fists. He loosens them deliberately, breathing out through his nose. “He’s with someone, Aims. And he’s so fucking wrapped up in it him that he’s never looked twice at anyone else. How would telling him help anything?”

“He’s your friend, Grimmy. Don’t you think he deserves to know? Or - I dunno, maybe once you tell him it’ll be like…a closure thing, and you can start getting over his stupid face.”

Nick snorts. He’s spent two years trying to get over Harry Styles’ stupid face. He’s decided it’s impossible. One doesn’t just stop loving Harry Styles, even when one is fully aware that Harry Styles is head over heels for someone else.

“Maybe,” he says, mostly in an attempt to end the conversation. “But if it’s all the same to you I’d like to continue bottling my feelings as self-destructively as possible and wait for them to blow up in my face.”

Aimee’s mouth twitches in a reluctant smile. “Right. Well, if that’s all you have to say let’s leave lover-boy to his nap for a bit, shall we? Pixie’s looking for us.”

She stands, and Nick hesitates. He looks back at the pile of soft, drunken boy on the couch beside him and doesn’t want to leave.

Nick isn’t a maternal person, and he’s generally kind of a selfish bastard most of the time. But something about Harry brings out this ridiculous protective side of him. Maybe it’s the stupid big Bambi eyes or the sweet dimples or the boyish smiles. When Nick isn’t teasing Harry or trying to make him blush, he wants to cuddle him and shield him from the world. It’s all very confusing.

Noting Nick’s reluctance, Aimee rolls her eyes. “He’s asleep, Nick. He’ll be fine for twenty minutes, alright? Ben can watch him, right Ben?” she calls, lifting her voice so Ben looks up from the other side of the room.

“What?” Ben asks. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Fine,” Nick huffs, patting Harry on the thigh before he gets up.

 

 

Usually Nick is good (or, well, _better_ ) at hiding his stupid crush on Harry. It’s just that tonight felt a little different. Harry drunk and loose with happiness was just a big ball of affection and sweetness, literally begging to be touched and cuddled and crooned over. He was the centre of attention and the whole night had been basically a Harry Styles Fanclub meeting. Nick had been by his side as often as possible, and in Harry’s altered state of mind, he hadn’t really noticed that Nick’s touch had lingered, or that his gaze was too fond.

When they hang out together at other times, Nick is usually more careful. It’s not that he’s expecting Harry to cut off their friendship or something ridiculous when he finds out. It’s that he knows Harry would be lovely about it. Harry would look at him with huge sympathetic eyes and apologise that he didn’t feel the same way, and then he’d give him a huge hug and go home to Louis with Nick’s broken heart cradled in the palm of his hand.

Nick’s spent the night pretending. Keeping Harry close all night, arm slung around his shoulders or face nuzzling into his neck, he could pretend that this was for real. Could pretend that he really was celebrating his boyfriend’s birthday, and not just taking advantage of a time when Harry couldn’t reject him.

It’s pathetic. Nick _knows_ Harry is in a relationship. In fact, Louis takes up a full 60-80% of their conversation when Nick allows Harry to babble as much as he likes. Every second sentence is “Louis said” “Louis and I -“ “Louis wants -“ “When Lou -“, etc etc ad nauseum until the end of time.

The funny part is that Nick doesn’t actually know that much about their relationship beyond what Harry confides in him. He doesn’t really spend time with them as a couple; it’s always either Harry alone or the five boys together. He’s never been to the house Harry and Louis bought a few months ago, and he’s only actually seen the two of them together in private a handful of times. Not one of those times was when they were unguarded; they were always surrounded by people who didn’t (and shouldn’t) know about their relationship.

He knows that Harry thinks Louis is the best person in the whole world, and he knows that they’re ridiculously, stupidly committed to one another. He knows about the dumb tattoos (although Harry refuses to divulge the full meaning of most of them). He knows that Louis must be a possessive little git, because Harry seems to have a bruise or bite mark lingering on his skin nearly every time they see each other.

Mostly Nick just knows that he’s in love with someone who’s already in a long-term committed relationship, and that sucks.

 

Nick broods for awhile while Aimee and Pixie talk over him, and eventually manages to slip away and get back to Harry.

He finds him right where he left him, of course, except he’s slightly less unconscious. Harry is still lying on his back, eyes bleary as he blinks at the ceiling. Ben is sitting beside him, watching with amusement.

“Hey,” Nick says and Harry turns his head slowly. His mouth spreads in a dopey, loose smile.

“Grimmy!” big hands reach out to grasp at Nick’s shirt. “Grimmy I think I passed out.”

“You did indeed, my friend.” Nick sits down next to him. “How do you feel?”

“Mm,” Harry smacks his lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Good. I feel good. My mouth tastes like tequila, when did we have tequila?”

“Sometime after the cake.”

“I like cake,” Harry flops over onto his side, head against the back of the couch and petting Nick’s chest with curious fingers. “Louis likes cake, did we save Louis some cake?”

“I’m sure we did, popstar,” Nick responds, gently untangling Harry’s hand from his shirt. This is _painful._

Harry’s face droops suddenly. “I miss Louis,” he says, voice slurring into a whine. “Where’s Louis? I want Louis, can you take me to Louis?”

“He’s probably asleep at home,” Nick hedges. He doesn’t want to take Harry to Louis because it means admitting that Harry belongs to Louis and not him. He’s not ready for this night to end.

Harry frowns even harder, mouth twisted in childish impatience. “So I should be ashleep - asleep - I should be at home too.”

Nick looks at Ben over Harry’s shoulder. Ben shrugs. “If he wants to go we should probably just take him home.”

“Yes!” Harry sits up, hands raised in victory. “Take me home!” Then he realises what he said and collapses into giggles. “That’s the name of the album, Nick, get it? Take me home, take me home.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Yes mate, I made that connection.”

After that, Harry won’t shut up about going home to Louis, so Ben calls a cab and they bundle him into it together. “I can take him from here,” Nick says to Ben, climbing in beside Harry. “Thanks, mate.”

Ben salutes him and waves goodbye to Harry, who grins and waves back enthusiastically.

The car starts and Harry immediately plasters himself to Nick’s side, cheek rubbing against his arm. “Nick I’m so druuuuuunk,” he slurs happily.

Nick bites his lip and tries not to put his arm around him or pet his hair. He reminds himself that Harry is an extremely tactile person and that his behaviour right now is exactly how he was with everyobdy else tonight. “Yes you are.”

“I miss Louis,” Harry says again. His face lights up and he scrambles suddenly, digging into his tight jeans to produce his phone. “I’m gonna call him!”

“Uh-uh, no you don’t!” Nick says, snatching the phone out of his hand. “I will call him, you’re barely stringing a sentence together.”

Harry pouts hilariously but allows this, punching in his lock code for Nick. Unsurprisingly, the background of his phone is a picture of Louis. Unsurprisingly, his phone is already open to a series of text messages from tonight which range from dirty to stupid to unbearably sweet. Unsurprisingly, Nick doesn’t find Louis’ name but instead “Boo” and a series of red loveheart emoticons. Nick wants to die.

He clicks the name and waits for it to ring, checking the time on his watch as he does so. It’s nearing five am and Louis will almost definitely be asleep.

The phone rings for a long time before Louis finally answers, his voice thick and raspy. “Bit late for my drunk call of the night, birthday boy,” he murmurs, fond.

Nick coughs uncomfortably. “Erm. It’s Nick.”

“Oh.” There’s a rustling on the other end of the line which might be Louis sitting up in bed. His voice changes immediately, from soft and loving to something sharper and more distant. “Is Harry okay?”

“He’s fine,” Harry is trying to get to the phone, squirming at Nick’s side like an overenthusiastic puppy. It’s extremely distracting. “Actually, he wanted to come home, so we’re in a cab to your place. We’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“Louis I love you!” Harry yells in the general direction of the phone. Nick pushes him away and Harry lands in a slump on the opposite seat, grinning madly.

Louis chuckles. “Alright, I guess I’ll see you soon then. Don’t let him stick his head out the window, alright? He’ll be sick.”

“Why would he - Harry, NO!”

 

They finally arrive at the address Harry had managed to mumble to the driver. Nick eyes the house curiously as he helps Harry out of the cab, telling the driver he’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

The place is _huge_ , three stories with double oak doors in the front and pillars on either side. They stumble forward and Nick rings the doorbell, Harry slumped against him.

It doesn’t take Louis long to answer the door. He looks sleepy and ruffled, his hair a mess, eyes puffy. He’s dressed in loose grey sweats and a shirt that’s too big on him, the collar gaping loose over his shoulder.

Louis offers Nick a polite, cool smile. “Hi.” Then he catches sight of Harry and his lips quirk into an amused grin. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Lou!!” Harry trips over his own feet as he throws himself at Louis, pushing Nick off him in the process. Nick swallows, his arms empty, and thinks about how that’s a good represention of this entire situation, really.

Louis catches Harry, arms wrapping around his waist as Harry hunches to tuck his face into Louis’ neck. Louis is laughing. “Oh my god, you’re completely smashed, aren’t you?”

Harry begins to babble incoherently about his evening, still wrapped around Louis like a particularly affectionate boa constrictor. Louis nods along indulgently as he steers the two of them backwards from the entry hall into what looks like a lounge room. The house really is enormous; spacious and airy, with a dining room and kitchen also branching off from the hall. A staircase on the opposite side seems to lead both up and down to what Nick assumes is a basement level and then up to bedrooms.

He follows Louis and Harry as Louis deposits Harry onto the sofa. Harry sprawls comfortably, his mouth wide in a lazy grin. He’s still talking loudly but Louis quiets him with a hand to his cheek, which Harry nuzzles into immediately. “Hey, shh, hey. Look at me.”

Awkward, Nick stands in the doorway of their living room and watches Harry’s big green eyes as they focus on Louis’ face. Louis rubs a thumb against Harry’s cheekbone. “You had a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“You feel okay? Sick?”

Harry shakes his head. “M’good. Sleepy. Missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Louis ducks to press a light kiss to Harry’s lips and Nick tries not to roll his eyes. Honestly. They literally saw each other a few hours ago; Louis had been at the party for the first couple of hours before the paps showed up, and they were attached at the hip the entire time.

Harry and Louis talk softly for a few more minutes before Louis kisses Harry on the forehed and stands. He turns to find Nick in the doorway. “Can you help me get him upstairs?”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Why can’t he just sleep on the couch?”

Harry makes a loud whining noise. “No no no, bed.” He reaches imploringly for Louis’ hand, tugging on it. “Bed.”

“That’s why,” Louis says dryly, then adds, “Besides, it’s easier for me to watch over him up there.”

Nick shrugs. “Alright.”

Together, they pull Harry off the couch and drape his arms over their shoulders. Harry and Nick both have to hunch to accommodate Louis’ shorter stature, but Louis is strong for his size and bears his half of the weight well. Then it’s a stumble up the stairs with Harry tripping every few moments, giggling to himself as he does so.

Louis guides the way into a big bedroom, its walls painted a smooth cream colour, with a huge bed taking pride of place against the far wall. Its navy blue sheets are messed on one side, the bedside lamp left on.

They lower Harry down and Louis makes room for himself to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, leaning over Harry as he flips the other bedside lamp on. Nick steps away; he would feel weird and intrusive sitting down on their bed, touching their sheets.

The whole thing is intrusive, Nick thinks as he looks around the bedroom. His own room at home is plainer than this, emptier. It has one bed and one bedside table and one dresser, and a TV and some bookshelves. It’s obvious that this room is lived in by two people. There’s two bedside tables; Louis’ side has an ipad, a pair of glasses and an old magazine on it. Harry’s has a lopsided pile of books and a shiny tangle of jewellery; necklaces and bracelets looped into each other.

There’s a door on one side of the room which is open to what looks like an enormous walk-in wardrobe. Nick can’t see in there but he imagines one side to be stocked with Harry’s skinny jeans and button-downs and tailored blazers, the other with Louis’ jeans and t-shirts and soft hoodies. He wonders if they keep all their shoes on the same shelves, wonders if Harry’s big boots and fashionable loafers mix in with Louis’ small tennis shoes and Converse.

Shelves line the bedroom walls, stocked with a mish-mash of photo frames, books, memorabilia from tour, a collection of shot glasses, a pile of fan artwork, a jewellery box, a tiny cactus…all the little knick knacks that make up Harry and Louis’ lives.

Nick pauses in his exploration of the room to watch as Louis starts undressing Harry. It’s shoes first, landing with two soft thumps on the carpeted floor, then nimble fingers making quick work of Harry’s fly. Louis struggles slightly with pulling Harry’s tight jeans down over his thighs and Nick pushes off the doorjamb, stepping closer. “You need a hand?”

“No,” Louis’ tone is sharp and his hand curls possessively around Harry’s knee.

Nick raises his hands in a ‘peace out’ gesture. “Just trying to help, mate.”

Louis’ face softens and he glances up at Harry, who is looking curiously between the two of them. “Yeah, I - sorry. I’m fine though,” he tugs on Harry’s jeans again and they slide off. Louis gives Nick a smug little smile and adds, “This really isn’t the first time I’ve undressed him, you know.”

“Right,” Nick agrees, voice hollow.

Louis gets to work on the buttons of Harry’s shirt, his fingers sliding to trace the familiar patterns of tattoos as Harry’s skin is revealed. When he unbuttons Harry’s collar, Nick isn’t the slightest bit surprised to note the dark bruise at the base of Harry’s neck. Louis presses his thumb to the mark and he and Harry share a secret little smile.

“Nick?”

Nick’s head snaps up when Louis addresses him. “Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favour, go into the bathroom and get a big glass of water and some painkillers? They’re in the cupboard over the sink.”

“Sure.” Nick finds the bathroom and flips the light on. It’s big like the rest of the house, with a long counter and two sinks. Nick opens the cupboard and is confronted with more of the minutiae of Harry and Louis’ life. There’s hair products, toothpaste, skin creams and body washes, saline and a contact lens case that must be Louis’, at least three bottles of lube, cough drops and hayfever pills, bandaids, shaving cream and razors and even a tube of eyeliner which Nick supposes could belong to either of them. He fumbles for a moment before he finds the packet of painkillers, popping two into his palm and filling a glass of water.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Nick feels, once again, like he’s intruding on a private moment. He thinks a lot of people probably feel that way around Harry and Louis.

It’s not like they’re doing anything particularly scandalous. Louis is still sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over Harry with his hand stroking gently through Harry’s hair as they talk. From what Nick can hear they’re sharing stories from their respective nights out; again, nothing scandalous or private.

It’s really the way they touch and look at each other that gets him. There’s Louis’ hand soft in Harry’s hair, moving down to touch his cheek or jaw every now and then. There’s Harry’s fingers wrapped in a loose cage around Louis’ other wrist, thumb stroking his pulse point. There’s the quietness of their voices because they both know the other is totally attuned to their words. There’s the way Harry’s eyes follow Louis’ mouth as he speaks, and how they talk in half-sentences, finishing each others’ thoughts with ease.

Harry looks like he’s about to pass out again so Nick approaches the bed, clearing his throat and holding the painkillers and water to Louis. Louis coaxes Harry into sitting up and taking the pills with the promise that they’ll make the morning easier for him. Harry lays back again and suddenly grabs Louis’ hand.

“Hey Lou, Lou!”

“Mmm?”

“Burrito boy.”

 _Burrito boy?_ Nick mouths to himself, having no idea what’s made Harry smile.

Louis laughs and nods. “I know, I was thinking it too. As soon as you -“

“With the blanket, exactly! And then Niall -“

“Fucking Niall, I swear to god -“

“Um,” Nick clears his throat when he realises that this conversation is going to continue without either boy bothering to explain the inside joke.

Louis looks over his shoulder at him and seems surprised that Nick is still here. “Oh, do you need to go? It’s okay, I’ve got him. Thanks for bringing him home.”

“No problem.” Nick moves closer so he can see Harry properly over Louis’ shoulder. “Goodnight, popstar. Happy birthday.”

Harry graces him with a beaming smile, reaching up to clumsily pat Nick’s hip. “Thanks, Grimmy. G’night.”

He looks away quickly, his attention zoning back in to Louis like a homing device. Louis’ hand is resting on Harry’s chest, and Nick notices for the first time the huge sparrow tattoo on Louis’ wrist. It matches up with the birds on Harry’s chest, because of course it fucking does. Nick swallows painfully, watches for one more moment how they gaze at each other as they interact. Louis’ face is softer than Nick has ever seen it, eyes crinkled fondly as he radiates peace and warmth and tenderness. He looks at Harry like Harry is home.

Harry looks at Louis like Louis is God.

Nick lets himself out of Harry and Louis’ bedroom, out of Harry and Louis’ home, and goes back to his one bed and one dresser and bedside table.

 _I’ve got him,_ Louis had said.

Yeah, Nick thinks.

You certainly have.


End file.
